Don't Cry, Wolfe
by AerrowLover
Summary: The real torture didn’t come from the hands of the Russians who had kidnapped him. It came from the hands of his team.
1. Session One

**A/N: ****It seems I'm on a roll for angsty Ryan fics right now. I can't help it! Anyway, here is my latest, set after S7E20 - what really should have happened, in my opinion. Read and enjoy.**

**Summary:**** 'The real torture didn't come from the hands of the Russians who had kidnapped him. It came from the hands of his team.'**

**Warning**** - contains swearing and images of strong violence/torture, just one of your five a day.**

**Disclaimer: ****No, I do not own any CSI Miami characters or storylines. If I did, I would have one hell of a fun time. **

* * *

Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees it all playing out in front of him once more. Relives it all again. He sees it, hears it - even feels it. The bruises throb and his back and chest ache. Stark evidence of what he suffered. How can he ever forget?

He feels the gap where a tooth should have been in his mouth with his tongue, and he can still see the cord that was around his neck. The welts are still fresh. They won't be healing anytime soon.

He tries to forget. Closes his eyes and breathes heavily. He tries so _damn_ hard to forget but in trying to forget he remembers. And when he closes his eyes, it's played right before him like some bizarre movie.

Only he can't press pause, and he certainly can't press stop.

* * *

"_This is not a negotiation. Each time you refuse to talk…We take something away."_

_The thick Russian accent only serves to add more of a menacing tone to the threat. Which is really a warning, for Ryan knows that they will carry out what they say they will do. The thought makes him panic, though he fights not to show it. He concentrates instead on trying to remain seemingly unaffected by the ominous words._

_So he forces himself to look the man in front of him in the eye; forces himself not to show that already he is in pain from the blow to the head from earlier or from his bleeding nose._

"_I'm not going to tell you anything…" He says, smirking. Outwardly he appears totally calm about being tied to a chair with a cord around his neck and a thickset Russian telling him he's going to get tortured, but inwardly he's praying that Horatio or Eric or one of the team will find out what has happened to him and come looking for him. _

_Ryan Wolfe may be someone who rubs people up the wrong way without meaning to, can get himself into a heap of trouble and at times be a jerk - but he isn't stupid. He doesn't wish to get tortured and he knows that his attitude at this current moment in time isn't going to end up fulfilling his wish, yet he is one of those guys who simply doesn't know when to shut up. And he hates being pushed into a corner. So if he's going to suffer, then at least let him go down fighting with a sarcastic retort on his lips and a smirk on his face. Let him release his inner wolf…_

_So he does._

_He finishes off his sentence, with what could be named as his last words._

"_So you can just go to hell." He says, continuing to smirk. His kidnapper glares at him and his smirk freezes. Yet he refuses to be intimidated. _

'_Take that, you bastard!' His eyes are screaming at the Russian, 'You can't scare me!'_

_There is a short silence, suddenly interrupted when the Russian clenches his gloved fists and starts walking to Ryan. He smirks back, and Ryan shivers, feeling his own grin die. He doesn't know what this man will do to him, but he knows it won't be nice and it will certainly be painful. He braces himself, waiting._

* * *

He's walking along the corridor of the labs now. Feels the stares on him. Stares which he ignores. He has to as he can't cope with any more looks of disappointment or anger. But he's breaking inside - it's all too much.

Some tech guy pushes past him, but it's not accidental as he can hear the guy laughing and a muttered "Watch where you're going, Wolfe!" is hissed at him. He feels himself flinching from the push - his arm shouts out to him, desperate to be seen to. Suddenly he feels unbearably claustrophobic.

All he wants is to hide; to escape everything. Those that call themselves his colleagues and his friends have proved to be lying. He has to get away.

He walks onwards, blinks and then he is suddenly back to that crazy movie being played in his mind. But which was once real.

And he had the staring role.

* * *

_He waits for the first attack… Trying to be as calm inside as he appears to be on the outside._

_And it comes._

_A fist rains down on his face, hitting him with a powerful blow which causes his vision to blur and that would send him flying if he wasn't strapped to this metal seat. He finds himself screaming as the onslaught continues, with blow after blow inflicting overwhelming pain on his head, chest, back, stomach - on everywhere. _

_Christ, it hurts. _

_It hurts so bad and it's still going on and blood is already pouring down his face and he is still screaming and -_

_It suddenly stops._

_He gasps, his head reeling and his stomach heaving. His heart is thumping crazily and all he feels is pain. Pain pain pain pain pain. He can hear the Russian laughing, a coarse, murderously cruel laugh and he knows that this man has only just started and he knows that his man will be the death of him._

_But he still won't give up. He's going to annoy the hell out of the guy by not saying a damn word for his life to be spared and refuses to beg either. It's his only way of fighting back. He'll take it with two hands._

"_Go to Hell!" He finds himself screaming at his torturer, who momentarily frowns. He hadn't expected him to show so much determination and strength, apparently. But maybe that can play in his favour. Ryan is a gambling man, after all. And this time the stakes had never been higher._

_The man then laughs again, having made up his mind to continue and starts again with throwing punch after punch once more. Ribs, collarbone, arms - nothing is spared. Ryan finds himself screaming again. Several kicks are aimed at his stomach and legs and he is now ablaze with the agony this short session of torture has created._

_The onslaught of violence is relentless and ongoing and already he can feel his pain threshold being passed. It's pure agony and what makes it worse is that he knows this is only the beginning. But it is his own fault, in a sense - for by refusing to talk he has signed himself over into the hands of a torturer who will push him to breaking point. He remembers that he was once taught that if he was ever in a situation where he was in so much pain that he couldn't cope or think, then he had to imagine a happy scenario; pretend he was there and not in his present situation. Ryan attempts to try this out - he is back at his uncle's house and he's safe, 'cause uncle Ron won't let anything happen to him and -_

_His daydream is shattered as another punch lands against the side of his face and Ryan can swear that he can see stars. Another punch lands on his nose, and Ryan hears the snap before he feels it. Once he does, however, the heat he feels on his abused nose is similar to a volcano, and pain is now erupting along with the blood which drips down his lips and chin. The coppery taste makes him gag. He moans. He can't do this. Oh dear god, when will this end?_

_"Please, Horatio...H, please..." His lips move but no words come out. "Please find me..."His prayer is cut short as he shouts out when another blow is delivered to his chest._

_He has suffered pain before - a nail in the eye, violent fights at nights and gunfights during his time at patrol - but this supersedes all. He's screaming as he feels bones break and blood flow but he still won't scream for it to end. _

_Another blow is delivered to his ribs and he feels the smash as his ribs give way. Pain erupts along his right side and a whole new level of agony is reached. He screams the loudest at that one blow. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the Russian smiling. He's enjoying himself._

* * *

He discovers that he is shivering. He lightly places a hand on his right side and winces. The action is painful and he is faintly surprised that the drugs he took from what seems like days ago, but in reality to be hours ago have lasted this long.

He's going to need another dose soon.

Ryan walks without knowing where he is going. But he soon finds that he is in the locker rooms. Crouching against his own locker, he leans back and closes his eyes. His back and shoulders ache but he ignores them too.

A lone tear trickles down his face.

* * *

**Was I the only one who forgot how violent the first couple of minutes of that episode was? I mean, the blood and the screams and then the tooth getting pulled out...**  
**Anyway, review? I'll have the next two chapters up tonight as well, I think. I'm on a roll. **


	2. Session Two

**A/N:**** It seems I'm on a roll for angsty Ryan fics right now. :face palm: I really should be updating 'Passive', or even doing revision for mocks but nope, here I am with this. :cue another face palm: Read and enjoy.**

**Summary:**** 'The real torture didn't come from the hands of the Russians who had kidnapped him. It came from the hands of his team.'**

**Warning**** - contains swearing and images of strong violence/torture, so if you do not like, please don't read and then flame me after for it, as I did warn you.**

**Disclaimer:**** No, I do not own any CSI Miami characters or storylines. If I did, I would have one hell of a fun time. **

* * *

"_Come Mr Wolfe, you know you cannot last forever!" The man shouts above his piteous cries of pain. Another blow to the head and one to his stomach and he's bent over in two, gasping and struggling to hold back tears._

_It is torture. Sheer bloody torture. _

_He finds himself smirking with bloody lips at his own joke._

_The violence suddenly ends again, and Ryan finds himself gasping and whimpering. Actual whimpers escape his mouth and he can't hold them in. He spits out blood, breathes out blood from his nose, tastes blood around his mouth, sees blood - Christ, it's everywhere. And it's his. All his._

_Dear God, how was he going to cope with anymore of this? Already it is too much - he can't feel anything other than the burning moans of hurt and ache from his body, and the thought that there will only be more of the same to come makes him want to scream; to break down and beg his captor to stop._

_But he can't. He simply can't break now and beg, simply can't give in._

_The man has crouched beside him now, with his eyes - the only thing visible as he's wearing a balaclava mask - faining compassion. Ryan knows this stage - the one where the torturer acts like he really doesn't want to hurt you anymore; that he suffers with every strike dealt to the victim; tries to fool them into thinking he will stop and help them if they tell him what he wants to know._

_Ryan wishes it were true. He really, really wishes it to be true but he knows it isn't._

_A gloved hand is suddenly at his face, causing Ryan to flinch. Those same hands where delivering crushing blows mere moments ago._

_The Russian laughs at the younger man's startled reaction. The laughter echoes and causes Ryan to shiver._

* * *

He raises one of his own hands to his face, touching his bruised jaw where that _other man's_ hand had been.

He starts rubbing his face furiously causing himself to cry out as it causes his jaw to protest, but he wants _that man's_ handprint, no matter how invisible, to be gone.

He stops only when he thinks his cries are loud enough to attract attention. His hand drops.

His shoulders are shaking.

* * *

"_Mr Wolfe…" The Russian says softly, almost kindly. Ryan closes his eyes. He doesn't want to hear this. Hearing this means that this is real. _

_That hand is almost caressing his face as if he were a lover, "I don't want to hurt you -"_

"_Fucking hell." He spits out through bloody lips, "Don't fucking lie to me. This is your job, you asshole! Course you want to hurt me!" He feels a tinge of triumph when he sees his torturer's eyes flame in sudden anger._

_He finds himself laughing. Hysterical, probably, but he laughs regardless. The man stares at him as if he's mad._

_He probably is. Or will be, if this goes on for an extended period of time._

"_What is so funny?" The hand drops from his face, curled for another punch. Ryan continues laughing._

"_You! You think you can get me to talk with all this? You're an idiot!" He laughs again, pausing only to spit out another mouthful of blood. "You're never going to get anything out of me." His voice is full of bravado and his mouth is full of blood. _

_The hand is around his throat, pulling on the cord around his neck. His laughter stops as his breathing is forced to a halt. He gasps, feeling his throat cave in._

"_Ryan Wolfe." The voice whispers into his ear, "You know what they say?" The hold tightens. Ryan begins to struggle, feeling himself panic._

_Then with a final and fierce tug the Russian lets go, and is in front of him again. Ryan gasps and shudders. But the relief he feels at being able to breathe freely once more is cut short as the man kicks him in the chest, forcing another moan of agony from Ryan._

"_Well, do you know what they say?" The man continues to talk as if this were just your ordinary everyday conversation. _

"…_What…?" Ryan asks. Dreading the answer, for he has some idea as to what it will be._

_A smile gleams. Like one from a predator to his prey._

"_They say 'never say never'." Then it's the Russian who starts to laugh, while Ryan is subjected to another round of being the punch bag, screaming and knowing he is one step nearer to being broken._

* * *

He scrubs at his eyes fiercely, but it doesn't work as more tears leak.

He can still feel everything - every punch and kick… They have been absorbed into his skin to become a sort of invisible memory.

Yet he could cope with even that, if he had the support of his friends. The thought tugs on his heart. The friends who didn't care for him. Who didn't look for him.

They didn't fucking _look_ for him.

They didn't even care. Right?

He opens his eyes, sees the room is empty.

It is how he himself feels. Empty. Worthless.

Ryan slides down his locker, this time not bothering to stop the tears that fall.

* * *

"_You took over your sponsor's debt without any money to pay it. Ivan isn't happy!" The Russian declares, driving his fist into his stomach as if to drive the point home of how unhappy Ivan is. The younger man cries out as the fist collides with already his already abused ribs. _

_Somewhere in his mind Ryan wants to laugh again. Is this what this is all about? Money? Why does everything in his life; all his problems revolve around money?_

_"Poor Ivan. Sorry to hear that." He mutters. Once the words have escaped the confinement of his mouth, he freezes in shock. Can't believe he actually said that. Surely what little sense he had would have prevented him from mocking his torturer? _

_He hears the fist approaching and screws up his eyes. Ends up screaming as it collides with his already injured and bleeding nose._

_"You little fool!" The Russian bellows, throwing in another few punches for equal measure before adding, "What are you going to do about that then?"_

_With all witty retorts having been thumped out of his mind and leaving only pain and blood behind, Ryan barely raises his head without a moan to answer._

"_I'll…Get the money." He chokes out, looking downwards. The Russian tuts, as if in disappointment. He reaches out and tugs Ryan's head back, earning another cry of agony. The hand has a hold on his hair and is pulling hard on it._

_An abstract thought floats around Ryan's head – perhaps he should cut his hair. It only meant he could be subjected to being controlled –_

"_It's too late for that!" His torturer shouts in his face. He throws Ryan's head forward with a flourish and adjusts his gloves._

_There is a short silence before it is broken as Ryan asks the question that has been circling his mind for sometime._

"_What are going to do? Kill me?" He asks in a voice which he hopes sounds full of bravado. His heart thumps as his breathing still comes in ragged gasps. What if the answer was yes? He didn't think he could keep his show of confidence up then._

_The Russian faces him, apparently thinking. After a minute he shakes his head, once again putting a hand on Ryan's face, ignoring his flinches._

"_No…It would be a waste of your unique skills." He says with what Ryan guesses is a grin behind that mask, and drops his face._

"_What…Skills…?" Ryan asks, his voice sounding slurred. Too many blows to his head. And he was already dreading the answer._

"_Why, your skills as a…What do you call it… A 'CSI'?" The Russian walks away, apparently going to look for something._

"_What…Do you mean? What do you want me to do?" He gasps again, in a mixture of pain and panic. _

_Somewhere in his mind the memory comes back to him of how Calleigh had been placed in a position like this. She had been kidnapped and forced to clean up a crime scene, and had been able to let the team know what was happening by leaving clues. He feels a faint hope - if he had to clean up a scene, he could do the same and be saved, much like when Eric, Frank and himself had got Calleigh. Then this nightmare would be over._

_He spits out another mouthful of blood, and then a thought strikes him - he couldn't help with cleaning up a scene. With his current record, he would be out for sure if he did. Calleigh had gotten away with it, but with his wonderful popularity with the authority figures in the lab, he doubted as to whether he would receive the same treatment. He feels overcome with panic once more - what would happen to him if he said no? He would be killed for sure._

* * *

He is on the floor now, face in his hands and sobbing desperately. He had been forced into a corner with no way out. For unlike Calleigh, who just had her own life to worry about, he had been told to clean the scene, or else a little boy would die as well as him.

He could not have let that happen - why could no one see that? Even Horatio, the saviour of children had looked down on him when he had told him that.

"Fucking double standards." He mutters, feeling the tears fall down his face still.

They hadn't even bothered their fucking asses to look for him. He might have been murdered for all they knew. Hell, they were probably thinking that he should have let himself be killed instead of hiding evidence and manipulating that fingerprint.

In a sudden fit of rage he punches the locker next to his, past caring that it is painful on his hand to do so. Now he welcomes the pain.

He looks up and sees that the locker belongs to one "Speedle, T." Oh yeah - the guy he was the replacement of. If he had been kidnapped, everyone would have been out looking for him.

"All this time…And I'm still the replacement."

He punches the locker; again and again in a scene that is eerily reminiscent of what was done to him until he gives up and curls into a broken heap on the floor.

* * *

"_Well, you will help, no? If it saves your miserable life, you will." The Russian laughed nastily, patting him on the head as if he were some stray dog. Ryan winces as the gloved hand digs the fingernails of his kidnapper into his scalp; the vulnerable flesh stinging. _

_His heart starts thumping crazily again - how was he going to get out of this one? He couldn't help this man, these terrorists…And they would kill him because he wouldn't. The thought makes him feel sick and prompts him to start gasping again._

_He isn't a coward, but the thought of dying is sure to frighten everyone, even the bravest. Especially if their death comes much too soon, and delivered by a man who does it for a job._

_His torturer is walking around now, but comes back to him._

"_There is a certain robbery/homicide… I want it to go away." He says, sounding confident that his orders will be carried out. And why would they not be? After all, Ryan only has more suffering if he does not, so why would he not follow orders and save himself from another episode of torture?_

_Ryan feels his heart stop. What he had guessed…He was right. He was to clean up a crime scene, tamper with evidence. In order to save his life he would have to. But he couldn't… If he was going to die, let it be with something that resembled __honour__ because he wouldn't carry out a thug's commands. Besides, the fact was that he would probably be killed after he did that, anyway. These people didn't want anyone whom they no longer had use for hanging around, as they could spill on them. And seeing as Ryan worked along with the police, it was all too clear that he would follow that same fate._

_The fate of disappearing. The fate of being murdered. The fate of having your body mutilated, and dumped somewhere._

_Part of him is yelling to stop being so wannabe heroic; so stubborn and foolish and to save himself while he still can. That part of him is the part that is burning with pain - the total __agonising__ hellfire that is pleading with him to do something; anything that will end all violence on his already weak and injured body._

_But another part is telling that part in no uncertain terms to shut up and think of doing the right thing. What is expected of him. He shouldn't give into these guys and allow them to do what they wanted. He should say no and accept the consequences. Which would be equal to more pain and followed by death. _

_And Ryan, surprised that he has held out this long, doesn't think he can do so for much longer._

_But he has to. So he takes a deep, shuddering breath, forces his confused brain to remember how to communicate verbally and opens his mouth to say the words that will give him a death sentence._

* * *

"I always was an idiot who could never keep my mouth shut and do what I was told." A faint mutter to himself through the tears. A broken laugh punctured by a dry sob escapes his still cut lips.

"Why did it have to be me?" He sobs desperately. "Why did it have to be me!" His sob turns into a shout. He is past caring about people walking past and what their reactions would be.

So he sits there and holds his head in his hands, cradling it, whilst curled up a ball against a locker. He feels safe like that. Only time in the past day since he has felt safe - even when he was back at the lab after his kidnappers dumped him he still did not feel safe.

But this was only momentarily - soon he would have to leave the room. And what would happen then? He doubts whether he will ever feel safe and secure again. Especially since his own team were so openly hostile to him now.

He would never feel welcome or safe again. And he now knows it.

* * *

**Yeah... I'm making the torture for Ryan more drawn out, ergo making it painful because I would end up with one hell of a long one shot.**

**Wait...**

**If you guys review, then he won't be suffering so much. :nods frantically: Review! Save Ryan! You know you all want to. ;)**


	3. Session Three

**A/N:**** Wow. What amazing feedback; I feel so warm and bubbly inside! How can I possibly say thank you enough times to everyone? Thank you all so much, for your reviews, adding to alerts/favourites, for even reading as it makes a huge impact upon me. Thank you, guys. Really.**

**Sorry for the long wait - blame school, coursework and exams! But since it is now the holidays, I think I can treat you all with updates!**

**Warning****- contains swearing and images of strong violence/torture, so if you do not like, please don't read and then flame me after for it, as I did warn you.**

**Disclaimer:**** No, I do not own any CSI Miami characters or storylines. If I did, I would have one hell of a fun time. ;) **

* * *

Tears fall. Shoulders shake. Eyes remain closed.

All he wants to do is to remain curled up and be safe; feel safe. But he cannot get away from the images burning in his mind; refusing to go away.

The Russian has done his job well - the torture will not leave any permanent marks on his body, but it will leave long-lasting scars in his mind.

He knows he should seek out help. Tell someone what happened - everything that happened. Even H only knows a small part of what actually went on in that basement.

But they don't care. Don't want to know. They're quite happy to remain immune from any guilt and to keeping their distance from him. After all, in their eyes, he is the guys who continually screws up, as demonstrated by his actions with the recent case.

* * *

_The Russian, hearing Ryan breathing in, ready to talk, turns and faces him. His head is tilted to one side, rather enquiringly. The movement is so similar to something that Horatio would normally do that Ryan feels more determined to say what he is going to. The image of his red-headed boss feels him with a drop of courage which, under the circumstances, will aid him greatly._

_He knows he'll need it._

_He breathes out, flinching slightly as the pain this vital function has caused him due to his injured nose hits him. He steadies himself, and looks his kidnapper in the eye. The young CSI forces himself to remain still. _

"_No…No I can't do anything about that." He says firmly and in a rush, shaking his head to reinforce his point. Shaking his head isn't such a good idea as things momentarily go black and fuzzy, but he refuses to let on._

_The Russian, who has since walked over to the iron table close to the iron chair which Ryan is currently tied to merely starts to remove his gloves in acknowledgement of Ryan's answer. He slightly shakes his own head before putting on new gloves, discarding the old, bloodstained ones._

"_I warned you what would occur should you refuse me." The man says, his words once more sounding doesn't escape Ryan's notice as the man's accent merely serves to make the deadly words all the more harsh. The torturer searches on the table for something - Ryan has no wish to know what it is - and picks up something resembling…_

_Pliers. _

_Oh, holy Jesus. _

_A pair of fucking _pliers_. _

_Ryan feels his heart rate pick up once more, and begins shaking his head. This was it - he couldn't withstand what was coming to him, he knew that. He feels tears threatening to spill - the pain, both mental and physical and the exhaustion along with the continuous fear is simply proving to be too much._

_- This can't be happening. Oh god, this can't be happening. H, where the hell are you? Please, please goddamn it, help me! - _

_The Russian is walking towards him, pliers in his hand. He is staring down at him and Ryan can just imagine the smirk of satisfaction that must be there, hidden behind that mask. It's not a pretty thing to think of and yet it's all he _can_ think of right now. He certainly does not wish to think about the pliers, held in his torturer's hands and moving closer to him with every passing second._

_The Russian pauses where he is. Maybe he can guess what is running through Ryan's head right now, and a faint muffled laugh issues from behind the fabric mask._

_Oh, he knows, all right. Knows that he has Ryan cornered, right where he wants him to be. And he likes it._

_This man makes a living out of things like this. Plus he actually enjoys this, too. Having the sheer overwhelming power of being able to inflict suffering on a person … Of course a sick and twisted man would enjoy it._

_The thought is chilling. But not as chilling as the thought of those small and rusty looking pliers approaching him now._ _Try as he might, he simply cannot take his eyes off them. Such a small, insignificant piece of hardware which right now are more threatening than a gun._

_-This can't be happening. This can't be happening -_

"_No, no. Stop!" The words escape his mouth. He can feel blood still trickling down his chin and neck, his head is still pounding and his body is on fire and aching. He knows he cannot cope with anything else. And now he has broken his private, silent vow of not begging; of only putting up resistance. But he has reached his breaking point. _

_He feels like a window from a car he once examined on a case a while back. During the accident, the window had been struck, but the glass did not break and shatter. It was broken, but the shards were somehow still held together. But with a single gentle poke, the shards had fallen part; the window had shattered._

_Right now he has been tortured to his limits. One more action of violence, and his resolve would completely break and then he too would end up shattered._

* * *

The thought makes him laugh.

Why? Because the Russian succeeded.

He broke him. Made him shatter. Then for good measure he stamped on the shattered fragments, leaving naught but dust.

And dust is worthless, right?

He laughs some more, the harsh and bitter laughter becoming hysterical. It's also punctured by sobs. They rack him, cause his whole body to shudder.

"Shattered and worthless. No wonder they never wanted to look for me." How he manages to speak through his latest session -

_No. Don't call it that! Anything but that. A session was what he called them…_

-his latest _moment_ of breaking down even he doesn't know. All he can do is think of that moment, over and over and over again. The moment, the _exact_ moment, where he broke.

Yet he continues to laugh and cry.

Why? Because the Russian succeeded.

He broke him. Made him shatter. Then for good measure he stamped on the shattered fragments, leaving naught but dust.

And dust is worthless, right?

A shuddered gasp. Tears trickle down his face.

"Yes."

And lying there, curled in a ball, crying and holding his head in his hands, seeing nothing but _that _basement, _that_ man and _those_ pliers, it is then that Ryan Wolfe realises that he truly is worthless. He truly is alone.

He truly is broken.

* * *

_You know you're worthless, Mr Wolfe? Your team have not even bothered to ring you, let alone look for you! They obviously don't care. That means one thing, yes?"_

_He feels the breathing of his kidnapper against the nape of his neck. He can almost see him smirk._

_Blood drips down his face. He can barely keep his eyes open. His throat is hoarse and raw from screaming and cries for help. Help that never came. Probably will never come._

"_You don't know what it means? Mr Wolfe, I am sure you do. Or… You just don't want to talk to me anymore." The Russian sounds like he is actually sulking at not having a reply. Ryan just coughs weakly._

_The fist comes later than he had expected. The pain barely registers._

"_It means you're worthless. You know you're worthless, right?"_

* * *

And now, leaning against the rows of lockers, he finally answers.

"Yes."

* * *

**So, the infamous tooth-ripping part comes next, something which I am really nervous about doing. Oh well. Let's see what I do!**

**Once again, a MASSIVE THANK YOU to all that have reviewed. Your kind words have compelled me to keep going and made me even more determined to ensure that this will be a successful fic.**

**This was rather short, but I needed to show that the Russian didn't only use physical torture, but he played mind games as well. Hopefully I'm getting the idea across that Ryan is actually losing it. Poor guy. And yes, Eric **_**will**_**pop up soon, no worries. **


End file.
